Jun 2019
I must attest
to just one thing
to help evolve
your muss and health
I just suggest
that you don't need
to love them all
to love yourself
-
by Aleksander Mielnikow (Alek the Poet)
to just one thing
to help evolve
your muss and health
I just suggest
that you don't need
to love them all
to love yourself
-
by Aleksander Mielnikow (Alek the Poet)
I am filled with so much love! And in more ways than one. I'm in love with my friends, my family, my dog. I'm in love with people in general, and strangers ("the stranger the bettaaa..."). I'm in love with my new video games and books. I'm in love with the wonderful venues I frequent. I'm in love with dancing and singing. I'm in love with someone who is so kind and sweet and smart and warm and caring and **** and cute and strong-willed and skillful and something that I can't explain but I feel it when I see them. And this poem is helping me love one other thing.
This may sound like I’m a comedian who laughs at my own jokes, but this poem made me tear up. I didn’t cry while writing it, though. When I work, I’m too focused on performing surgery to take all the emotions in. But once I sat back and read it as it is, it hit me like a 16 ton weight.
I've suffered, and still live with, such debilitating depression I've tried to **** myself four times. I've lied to friends about how I got bruises on my face while I hid the bite marks on my arms. I've pushed so many beautiful people away to make sure I don’t drag them down and unintentionally yet inevitably, rip them apart. I've drunk enough in one sitting to **** a person, without the hesitancy that a sense of self-preservation should bring. And I’m so ashamed and disgusted with myself getting my thoughts stirring in the morning is like jumping into a hurricane.
While I wrote this poem for you readers to take in, I ended up saying something to myself I didn’t think I could. It feels otherworldly. It even seems wrong, like I’m just waiting to sabotage every syllable. And I've spoken words like this before, only to throw them into a fire I've lit with hate. But I wrote this without hesitation. It flowed through my fingers, through a pen onto a page and then through a keyboard onto a word processor.
And I’m crying from the pain of remembering my destruction, and the joy of thinking I could be my friend. One who will listen and validate and soothe and advise and cheer me on when no one else is there.
I’m sure this mood, too, shall pass. But I’m holding on to this weird feeling of self-love for as long as I can.
This may sound like I’m a comedian who laughs at my own jokes, but this poem made me tear up. I didn’t cry while writing it, though. When I work, I’m too focused on performing surgery to take all the emotions in. But once I sat back and read it as it is, it hit me like a 16 ton weight.
I've suffered, and still live with, such debilitating depression I've tried to **** myself four times. I've lied to friends about how I got bruises on my face while I hid the bite marks on my arms. I've pushed so many beautiful people away to make sure I don’t drag them down and unintentionally yet inevitably, rip them apart. I've drunk enough in one sitting to **** a person, without the hesitancy that a sense of self-preservation should bring. And I’m so ashamed and disgusted with myself getting my thoughts stirring in the morning is like jumping into a hurricane.
While I wrote this poem for you readers to take in, I ended up saying something to myself I didn’t think I could. It feels otherworldly. It even seems wrong, like I’m just waiting to sabotage every syllable. And I've spoken words like this before, only to throw them into a fire I've lit with hate. But I wrote this without hesitation. It flowed through my fingers, through a pen onto a page and then through a keyboard onto a word processor.
And I’m crying from the pain of remembering my destruction, and the joy of thinking I could be my friend. One who will listen and validate and soothe and advise and cheer me on when no one else is there.
I’m sure this mood, too, shall pass. But I’m holding on to this weird feeling of self-love for as long as I can.
